


Buttons and Top Hats

by Rose_de_Noire



Series: Welcome To The Tea Party [1]
Category: Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_de_Noire/pseuds/Rose_de_Noire
Summary: Tarrant mopes and Chess gets fed up with it.This is fluff. Mainly that is. Also AUI think the pairing once was called Largness and Muchness.There IS some OOC (a lot)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is finished on my computer btw. ^.^

**Buttons and Top hats**

 

**I**

 

He would die here.  
There was no one going to save him. He was an outcast.  
And he felt so much regret.  
Not that he would ever make different decisions.  
  
The mind in the weak shell, only skin and bones by now, fled back to the past.  
If he was going to die - and he would, so much was certain - he wanted to do so with a smile and green eyes burning him up.  
  
  
_Somewhere else and still the almost same place but an entirely different time  
  
  
  
_ “You can’t just hole up here, you’ve got your family back you know?”  
  
Chessur floated by and draped himself around the hatter’s shoulders, tail tickling his cheek.  
  
“I get that you miss your Alice… We all miss her.”  
  
“It’s not about Alice.”  
  
And maybe the most worrisome was that the Mad Hatter didn’t sound half as mad as he should.  
And the other thing was the tattered white eyepatch which the hatter pulled out of his pocket.  
  
Chessur made an overwhelmed noise and swished his tail, hitting the brim of the hatter’s hat. This was unsettling.  
  
“You’re not going mad yes?” The cat purred.  
  
“I _am_ already mad.”  
  
Well, Chessur had to admit that this was as true as it would ever get.  
  
“Why are you wallowing in the past though? You’ve never brought him up again after he left the White Court.” Not even when he was banished; Chessur would do good though not to speak the last part aloud.  
  
The hatter’s shoulders slumped more, almost enough to dislocate the cat from there, but Chessur held on, waiting for the words to come.  
  
And come they did. Slow and almost inaudible.  
  
“He’s dead, we saw…” the hatter swallowed, “well, I saw, his skeleton in Iracebeth’s lair. There was a sword through his chest... he had been shackled.”  
  
Chessur made a disgusted noise and uncharacteristically tenderly nuzzled the hatter’s cheek.  
  
Tarrant continued, voice now slightly trembling, making Chessur worry even more.  
  
“As long he was alive, there was hope, you know? I could pretend he would plead forgiveness and come back to the White Court.” The hatter swallowed and tonelessly added, “back to me.”  
  
He didn’t sound mad at all. Only so very, very sad.  
  
Chessur floated in front of the hatter, chin propped up by his paws and stared right into Tarrant’s eyes.  
  
“If I brought him back, he would be a bit worse for the wear, frayed around the edges,” he turned and floated head over and winked, “a little bit mad.”  
  
Tarrant perked up at that and whispered, “I’ve experience with madness!”  
  
Chessur grinned, showing off all his pointy teeth. “Yes, yes you do. I would make a new eyepatch while I’m gone…” and he vaporized.  
  
The hatter did what he hadn’t done in a while and reached for needle and thread, some soft and gleamy black velvet fabric.  
He doubted Ili would like to sport a hat for an eyepatch, so he would get a button.  
  
  
_Somewhere else and still the almost same place but an entirely different time_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ If only he could reach his sword...  
His arm was too weak and his other hand was shackled to the throne. What a joke.  
Joke? Jokes were Tarrant’s expertise, not Ilosovic’s.  
He sighed. He must be going mad, right around the bend. Well, more than he’d already been. One needed to be somewhat insane to choose the Red Queen.  
Madness was more of Tarrant’s expertise too.  
  
“You want to off yourself?”  
  
He had grown to hate the Queen’s voice, but if she offered to help him out with a quick stab he wouldn’t be opposed to it.  
  
The Knave opened his remaining eye, sight still blurry from Tarrant’s hatpin, but he could discern how she lifted his own sword, so he closed it again and conjured up a rather mad smile and green eyes in his mind.  
  
“You look different from when I last saw you…”  
  
The voice purred into his ear and a soft touch slid over his cheek.  
That didn’t sound like his hatter, not at all. But he would take what he could get.  
  
“I’m coming to get you!” The voice continued and Stayne opened his eye only to see the blurry sword soaring down towards him.  
  
And then there was nothing but darkness.  
  
  
_Somewhere else and still the almost same place but an entirely different time_  
  
  
He woke up to the feel of soft sheets and the long missed taste of water on his parched lips.  
Stayne let out a soft groan and tried to blink open his eye.  
  
“Shsh, don’t, I had to wrap you up like a present, your eye was as red as mine…”  
  
Stayne stopped to move - and breathe. He would recognize this voice everywhere, even half mad as he felt.  
  
He sucked in a breath as gentle fingers slid along his jaw and his mouth was coaxed open by a bandaged thumb and then there was more water, this time dripping onto his tongue.  
  
Stayne painfully swallowed it down his dry throat, an involuntary, pitiful noise escaping him as the soft drizzle came to a halt after only a few sips.  
  
“Nu-uh, you can have more later, Ili.”  
  
The Knave relaxed more at the petname he had not heard in years and weakly tried to lift his hand, but he could only move his fingers.  
They were covered by a much smaller hand than his within a blink and another hand was sliding through his hair untangling it like it had done all those years ago.  
  
“Your hair, it’s grey, but still as soft as the most precious velvet, I made you a new eyepatch from the black velvet you loved so…” Tarrant kept rambling while Ilosovic gave in to his exhaustion and dropped off again.  
  
The next time he woke up it smelled of soup and there was a second voice.  
The same one he had heard before the sword had hit him.  
Shouldn’t there be a hole in his chest?  
  
“What are you going to tell the others?” The floating voice from before asked and something in Stayne’s mind fell into place and he recognized the cheshire cat.  
  
“Oh, that’s simple, he wears an eye patch and he’s rather tall and all in all looks a lot like Ilosovic,” there was a mad giggle and Tarrant continued, “well, his hair’s grey - but still very soft, mind you!”  
  
Stayne could hear Chessur groan and he almost chuckled.  
  
The hatter picked up again, “he’s, so to say, what I look for in a man, mind you! And sometimes I pick up old sea dogs, maybe even pirates and take them home to keep them. So, meet Captain Ili!”  
  
This must have been the most harebrained plan Ilosovic had ever heard, perfectly mad for a totally mad hatter and a half mad Knave.  
  
The hatter laughed again and this time there was a very strange note to it and it took Stayne a moment to name it as sadness.  
  
“And Alice, the Red Queen and even Mirana saw his body. So there is no doubt he is dead.”  
  
So the sword _had_ hit him.  
  
Chessur let out a small laugh then purred, “you still have to tell him that Time has moved on, he will not know this.”  
  
Stayne made a surprised noise at this and - he could feel the mattress dip as Tarrant sat down - and instantly found his hand cradled in a smaller one and a gentle one brushing over his stubbled cheek.  
He leaned his head into the touch and nuzzled, not giving a care in the world. The Knave of Hearts was apparently dead and what Ili did was of no concern to anyone.  
  
“You are,” Chessur’s voice floated around them with the hint of a chuckle, “disgustingly sweet. I’ll be back later.”  
  
“He’s gone, Ili. You must be hungry, you’re only skin and bones, I made soup and I have to tell you a lot and more. I got my family back, did you know Iracebeth had them? I hope you did not know, if you had known that would have been too cruel even for you. And even though I might have deserved it for all I have done to you…”  
  
“Tarrant,” Stayne croaked, throat still dry and sore, “water please?”  
  
There was some rustling and movement and then an arm behind his back helped Stayne sit up and made him feel even more weak than he already was.  
He was leaned back against a pile of pillows and the bandaged thumb was back at his mouth and he diligently opened, not even trying to reach for the glass himself as the rim pressed against his lips.  
  
The glass was mercifully not pulled away until he’d emptied it and he finally felt strong enough to answer the hatter’s question.  
  
“No, Tarrant, I did not know she had them.” And it was the truth.  
  
There was a deep sigh and the hand was back, stroking through his hair.  
  
“How do you feel, Ilosovic?”  
  
There was really only one answer to give. “Slightly mad, almost entirely so.”  
  
“Perfect!” The hatter laughed relieved, pulled his hand back and got up. Stayne could hear him walk away.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Soup, I made you soup, remember? You liked my soup back then. You liked…”  
  
Stayne couldn’t hear the rest of the rambling as Tarrant had left the room.  
He realized how mad it was. To be in Tarrant Hightopp’s bed and to trust him like the past had never happened.

Like they had never tried to kill each other.  
Perfectly, utterly mad.  
  
He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn’t hear the hatter come back.  
Stayne certainly felt it though, as there was a gentle tap to his forehead.  
  
“Hey you, open up!”  
  
Stayne could stomach much less soup than he thought the hunger would allow him and - after Tarrant had helped him lie down again - reached for the hatter’s hand.  
Well, he waved his hand around until Tarrant caught it.  
  
“Stay here?”  
  
Ilosovic was disgusted by the sound of his own voice, as there was the same pleading and vulnerable quality to it as there had been so long ago.  
Back then the hatter had walked away.  
And so Stayne held his breath and clung to the hatter’s hand while he waited for an answer.  
  
He could hear how Tarrant swallowed as he sat back down.  
  
“Of course, not even I am mad enough to leave you again.”  
  
“I’m mad enough to hold on this time…” and Stayne’s grip around the hatter’s hand tightened a bit more.  
  
They woke up curled around each other, Ilosovic’s face buried into Tarrant’s neck and Tarrant’s arms protectively slung about Ilosovic and neither dared to move, until the hatter teased.  
  
“Your bony knees still poke into my shins.”  
  
“And you’re still poking yours into my ribs.”  
  
Tarrant let go slowly and sat up. Stayne could hear him stroke his rumpled clothing flat, then he felt Tarrant’s hand come back to caress his cheek.  
  
“I need to have a look at your eye, and then you will eat more soup and I will make Chessur a hat and you some clothes, you can’t well go about in my nightshirt. It barely covers these long legs of yours down to your knobby knees!”  
  
Stayne chuckled despite himself.  
  
“I’ll eat all the soup you want if you let me have a tea first.”  
  
“Ohhh,” Tarrant sounded excited and clapped his hands. “I will make you all the tea you want, it will do your voice good! I’ll be back in a moment!”  
  
Ilosovic  must have fallen asleep again as he was gently shaken and woke to the scent of tea, and Tarrant’s voice.  
  
“Wakey-wakey, rise and shine, I brought you golden tea and a new bandage for your head!”  
And Stayne was moved into a sitting position once again.  
  
The swishing noise of curtains being pulled and hasty footfalls had him turn his head towards the side and tilting it slightly.  
  
“A new bandage would be appreciated, this one itches…” Stayne murmured, feeling ungrateful and not a small bit worried he might have gone blind. The sight in his eye had declined already when he’d still been in the Red Queen’s grasp.  
Would he ever see the green eyes again?  
  
“You worry entirely too loud,” Tarrant’s voice singsonged right by his ear and Ilosovic shivered.  
“It’s true, I can almost hear you, and your cheek gets strange wrinkles when you do, now hold still and let me take a look!”  
  
Stayne held still, patiently waiting for the bandage to drop, eye firmly pressed shut.  
  
Then the bandage was gone and cool, gentle fingers caressed around his stitched shut eye before they moved on to his other, rubbing away the balm Tarrant must have applied there.  
  
“It’s not looking as bad as it did before, are you going to open it?”  
  
“Your fingers are still on it?”  
  
The fingers slid away from his eyelid down to rest on Stayne’s cheekbone and he very slowly opened his eye.  
For a moment he feared that he had indeed gone blind. Until he realized that it was only the room which was plunged into darkness, and that the foggy blob he was seeing must have been Tarrant’s face.  
  
“I see you, very blurry though.”  
  
The blob moved away a bit and the fingers slid from his cheekbone to tilt his chin upwards then a candle was lifted up and he closed the eye again as the light stung.  
  
“Hmmm, it is still red and swollen. I will need to apply more balm. Can you hold your cup? I’ll be back before you empty it, Ili.” And the cup was pressed into his hand, the warmth seeping into Stayne’s fingers as the hatter hurried out of the room.  
  
Stayne blinked open his eye again - not that he could see much more -  and took both hands to lift the cup up to his mouth.  
The tea was sweet and warm and each sip brought up another memory.  
Memories as sweet as the tea and it led to Tarrant finding Ilosovic smiling into the cup as he came back with balm and even more bandages.  
  
“You liiike my tea, you like my teeeaaa…”

The hatter sang and Stayne’s smile grew a bit.  
  
“I always liked your tea, it is the best in Underland.”  
He liked how in his imagination Tarrant preened at the compliment and he held the cup out to Tarrant.  
“But I emptied it. And I…”  
  
“You what?”  
  
The cup was taken and then his chin was tilted up again and the fingers were back at his eye, applying a cooling balm. The itching which had started up vanished and Ilosovic let out an inaudible sigh while Tarrant bandaged him up again.  
  
“You what? What do you need?” The hatter prompted. “I can get you more tea. And soup. There’s some fairy cake too and little sandwiches, but I’m not sure if your throat isn’t too sore still. And…”  
  
Stayne reached up and placed his hand over Tarrant’s where he was knotting up the bandage, and the babbling ceased.  
  
“I need a bathroom?”  
  
The hands fell away from Stayne’s head and Tarrant made a small “oh” sound.  
“Can you walk there? I don’t know if I can carry you, you can lean on me, that would work, but if not I’ve a perfectly fine chamber pot!”  
  
“I _will_ walk there.” Alone the thought of a chamber pot had him recoil in horror.  
  
They made it to the bathroom and back, even though he almost hit his head twice on the way there and got placed on the bed rather roughly; and Tarrant flopped down right beside him complaining, followed by a breathless chuckle.  
  
“For as thin as you are you weigh more than a bandersnatch.”  
  
Ilosovic would have protested if not for the fact that the hatter used the opportunity to snuggle up, murmuring about getting him his soup in a moment, just after catching his breath.  
  
He didn’t mind too much, it was nice to be snuggled upon and he would not starve for waiting just a little longer to get food. So he wriggled his arm into a better position so it wouldn’t get squeezed beneath Tarrant - and if Stayne happened to now hold the hatter in a one armed hug it was a pure fluke.

If only he wouldn’t be so tired.  
  
Stayne woke up to an empty bed and the hatter’s humming and mumbling about ribbon and buttons, accompanied by the rustling of fabric.

He wondered if Tarrant was working on Chessur’s hat or the clothes he’d promised him.  
And Ilosovic thought of the first thing the hatter had ever made for him, a pearly white eye patch.  
Which he’d thrown at the man’s head just a moment before he’d pulled his horse around and sped out and away from the White Court.  
  
The noises and movement suddenly stopped.  
  
“I told you already you worry too loud! And your cheek…”  
  
“Gets funny wrinkles,” Ilosovic cut the hatter off, “I know, I know!”  
  
There was the scraping of a chair getting pushed back followed by footfalls and then Stayne’s mattress dipped.  
He rolled to where he assumed he would face Tarrant.  
Stayne got rewarded with a chuckle and a pat to his cheek.  
  
“Are you feeling better, Ili?”  
And he could feel Tarrant’s hand playing with his grey hair again.  
  
“I haven’t felt this good in a long while,” he wanted to say more, but his stomach gave the loudest rumble.  
  
Tarrant’s hand pulled back as the hatter dissolved into a fit of giggles and announced, already bouncing away, “Time for soup!”  
  
This time the soup came in a mug and Tarrant placed it carefully into Ilosovic’s hands, making sure it was neither too hot or heavy. Ilosovic could even feel the hatter blow on it right before he pulled his bandaged hands away and cheerfully wished him to enjoy his meal.  
  
Stayne’s sipping was the only sound for a while, until the hatter apparently began to work again, considering the mumbling and scattered words coming from farther away.

Once done, Ilosovic let the mug sink into his lap, considering he was still blind and he really didn’t want to interrupt Tarrant while he was working and so he just listened to the ceaseless mumbling.  
  
He was about to nod off once more when the hatter uttered a small painful noise and Stayne snapped back to attention, almost dislodging the mug from his lap.  
  
“Tarrant?”  
  
“I’m fine,” the hatter’s voice floated over, “I’m fine. Just pricked myself, tried to make a hatter hat. Apparently. Stitching myself right to the brim as decoration.”  
  
Stayne could hear him suck on the digit before there was a small chuckle. “Just a ribbon more around another finger. It is getting too dark to make hats anyway!”  
There was the scraping of the chair again and the hatter hummed a small tune - it still sounded like he’d kept the finger in his mouth - while he shuffled around the room.  
Then the curtains were drawn once more and not much later Stayne was relieved of the mug and Tarrant ordered, nudging his side, “move over, Ili!”  
  
He barely had time to scoot as Tarrant already climbed in, pulled the covers over them both, patted the cushions into shape and molded himself against Ilosovic’s side.  
  
Stayne in turn tensed up.  
There was distinguishably less clothing between them than the last few times. He could feel the whisper of a nightshirt and he wondered for a moment if it was the garishly yellow one. Or if perhaps he himself had been put into the one.

Then Tarrant’s feet slid against his shin and up, and up, until he felt the soft wool of his socks against his thigh and Tarrant’s knees nudged his lowest rib.

The hatter had curled up into his preferred sleeping position, whispered a goodnight into Ilosovic’s shoulder and he could feel him going limp.  
  
Stayne finally took a breath, turned to face Tarrant and pulled his own legs up until his knees pressed against the hatter’s shins.  
  
“Good night, Tarrant.”  
  
Just before sleep claimed him, Ilosovic brought his arm beneath Tarrant’s head for him to use as a pillow.  
  
Waking up brought a numb arm, a snoring hatter and - someone pounding on the door who yelled for the hatter.  
Rather insistently impertinent, Stayne thought.  
  
“Tarrant,” Stayne freed his arm and rubbed some feeling back into it, then tried a second time, “Tarrant, there’s someone breaking down your door.”  
  
There was a sleepy mumble as the hatter snuggled closer.  
  
Stayne felt around until he found the hatter’s shoulder, then shook him gently.  
“No really, _Hatter_ , there’s someone at your door and I fear they will break it down if you won’t open!”  
  
He could feel the exact moment Tarrant woke up, followed by a low growl.  
  
“Don’t you call me Hatter! It’s my profession, not my name!”  
  
Stayne chuckled amused and leaned towards the voice after he’d sat up too.  
  
“It woke you up and maybe saved your door, Tarrant.” He shrugged, “if you are fast enough, that is.”  
  
The pounding by now had grown as frantic as the voice calling for the hatter.  
  
Tarrant seemed to become aware of the ruckus right this moment, as Stayne could feel him freeze and then he heard him whisper.  
  
“My father, what is he doing here?”  
  
And Stayne found the blanket thrown over himself, then felt Tarrant scramble out of bed.  
  
“You stay here, in bed. Don’t walk around, I think he won’t come to my bedroom. Just stay put, here, in bed. Don’t go gallivanting around. Best for you to stay in bed…”  
  
“Tarrant!” Ilosovic called out and the babbling stopped. “I promise to stay put, right here in bed while you go do what you need to do.”  
Once he’d freed his head from the covers he nodded for emphasis, hard enough that his hair flew.

“I’ll stay, right here. In bed. Waiting for you. No gallivanting.”  
  
Stayne could feel Tarrant lean close enough for warm breath to tickle him as the man giggled.  
  
“You really are a little bit mad.”  
  
“Almost entirely so.” He replied solemnly.  
  
“Perfect!”  
Ilosovic heard Tarrant whisper as he pulled away and walked out of the room, a slight swing to be heard in his step.  
  
  
Left alone with not much more to do than killing time, Stayne began to assess his situation.  
  
He knew he was not more than skin and bones right now and weak as a newborn colt, even though he weighed more than a bandersnatch according to Tarrant.  
Stayne probably smelled stronger than one, too.  
He blanched a bit at this, but experimentally sniffed at his arm. All he got was a whiff of Tarrant’s soap with a faint hint of sweat. Not too bad then. The hatter must have cleaned him up.  
He was not really bothered by this, as there were only a few things on his body the hatter had not seen in the past. A few new scars and that dretched branding on his chest.  
As Stayne’s hand came up and rubbed over the scarred heart, he became aware of the velvet bandage on his wrist.  
How had he not felt this one before?  
Well, he was half mad, wasn’t he?  
He chuckled at that thought and began to pat himself down in earnest now.  
  
The bandage around his head felt like silk ribbon and there _was_ a button stitched to it.  
_Only Tarrant._ Ilosovic thought and slid his hand down his cheek - he needed a shave - and further down to the collar of the borrowed nightshirt.  
There were ruffles and his fingers kept playing with them for a moment. Not the yellow one then.  
He continued the excursion until he reached his knees and pulled a face.  
Tarrant had been right. They were bony and knobby, even more so than when he wasn’t half starved and sick.  
Once done with the inventory of his body he bunched up the pillows and then leaned against them, thinking of what might happen to him.  
  
Tarrant probably could not keep him here forever. Especially if he would go blind.  
And there was the ice cold stab of fear again.  
Stayne was a soldier, a man of the sword. It was the only thing he was good at.  
Blind he would be utterly useless.  
Though, to be honest, Tarrant could probably keep him around even less should Stayne get better. It would be dangerous for the hatter to hide him.  
Ilosovic Stayne, as the Knave of Hearts, had done horrible things in the past and he was certain no one should give him a second chance.  
  
  
“Wriiinkleeees!”  
  
The hatter’s sudden booming sent Stayne jumping and scrambling for a sword which wasn’t there, before he sunk back against the headboard, one hand firmly pressed to his furiously beating heart, breath coming in small little bursts.  
  
He could hear Tarrant laugh, carefree and happy.  
  
“Serves you right for all the worrying!”  
  
“You…” Ilosovic sucked in another breath, “you mad mad hatter, you!”  
And he broke down into his own peals of laughter. Tarrant’s laughter always had been contagious to him.  
It ended in a coughing fit for him though, and Tarrant patting his back.  
  
“There there, deep breaths, just like this,” the hatter patted some more and then rubbed his hands over Stayne’s shoulders before taking them of off his person. “Better?”  
  
Stayne nodded, “much. But, are you trying to kill me?”  
He had said the words without thinking about either implications or the past.  
But when he heard Tarrant gasp he knew it had been the wrong thing to say.  
  
Ilosovic’s hands clutched the covers so hard his knuckles turned white as he went on.

“I’m not, you know. Not anymore, that is. Trying to kill you I mean. I never wanted to, but I certainly meant to. It’s not that there was much of a choice. You were, we were…” he fell silent as Tarrant’s bandaged hand was placed upon his and gave a gentle squeeze.  
  
“Neither do I, but I certainly meant to, too. So I think,” Tarrant’s voice got a cheerful and true ring, “we’re quite even.”  
  
All the apprehension left Stayne’s body in one deep relieved breath and he turned his hand over to close his fingers around Tarrant’s in return.  
  
“We’re even.”  
Could it really be as easy as this? It would be mad if it was.  
Considering though that Tarrant was known as the Mad Hatter and Ilosovic himself was half mad already.

Well, it could be as easy as they made it to be.  
  
They sat like this for a long moment, until Stayne felt Tarrant pulling away slowly and getting up.  
  
“Tea?”  
  
Ilosovic tilted his head towards the Hatter’s voice and nodded. “Only if you tell me this ‘lot and more’ you talked about, Tarrant.”

He could hear Tarrant shuffle his feet, but then the hatter cheered, “tea and stories, what a wonderful combination!”  
  
Alone in the room again, Ilosovic brooded.

Most certainly _the_ Alice had something to do with the hatter’s tale. The green-eyed monster in his heart raised its head and Stayne wrestled it down.  
That was more than he’d achieved the last time. Back when Alice had shown up in Crims, bathed in Tarrant’s scent from head to toe, calling herself Um.

He’d wanted to break her, even before he ever knew she was _the Alice_ .  
  
But _he_ was here, the Alice was not.  
  
Ilosovic would listen to the tale without any bursts of violence. He owed Tarrant as much.  
  
Schooling his face into a neutral expression - and if only to not get teased about his ‘strange wrinkles’ - he waited for Tarrant’s return.  
  
The tea was good, the story long (a bit too much Alice), but in the end the best about it all was that Tarrant’s voice had gotten happier by the word as he finally talked about his family.  
  
“I’m glad you have them back.” Stayne admitted leaning his shoulder a bit more against the hatter’s where they both were propped up against the headboard.  
  
“You are?”  
  
Ilosovic nodded instead of a verbal answer and was rewarded with Tarrant’s hand rubbing his arm.  
  
“I’m glad to have you back too.” The hatter admitted. “You were dead.”  
  
“I was?” Stayne asked curiously, “how am I here then?”  
  
He felt Tarrant’s chuckle more than he heard it as the hatter explained.  
“I moped, Chessur got fed up and brought you back. We are in _Wonder_ land after all.”  
  
So Tarrant didn’t know the how himself, but at least the why.  
  
“Are you hungry? Thackery brought by some scones yesterday, they’re still fresh, and father was sent by mother with some freshly made meat pie. Well, that’s what he said, but I think they were just worried because I moped. He smiled a little as I told him I’m working on a new hat.”  
  
Tarrant stopped to take a deep breath then asked, “so, meat pie or scones, Ili?”  
  
Ilosovic crooked a grin and turned his head towards Tarrant’s voice.  
  
“Everything would not go amiss. I believe I’ve never been as hungry in my life as I am right now.”  
  
The noise coming from Tarrant was a weird mix of gasp and laugh, but he walked away and came back not much later.  
  
Ilosovic had scooted all over to the right side of the bed in the meanwhile and propped himself against the headboard, covers over his lap.  
After a tap to his shoulder he took whatever it was that Tarrant passed him and waited until the hatter had sat in the bed too.  
  
“You know Ilosovic, I do have a chair in here. Brought one up to work. I usually don’t work in my bedroom.” The voice was thoroughly amused and he could feel Tarrant lean carefully against him.  
  
Ilosovic hummed in return, “I like it better this way,” then felt on his plate for food and promptly stuck his finger into something mushy.  
It turned out to be clotted cream as he licked his finger, and Ilosovic instantly stuck his finger back in to sample more, lapping the digit clean with childlike joy.  
  
There was a choked off sound from his left as he repeated the procedure for the third time.  
  
“It’s so good,” Ilosovic hummed, then found the scone and pulled it apart, lifted it up and inhaled its scent with a far off expression.  
The last time Stayne had tasted Thackery Earwicket’s cooking had been about half a lifetime ago. He’d been on the ‘right side’, Tarrant hadn’t yet been the _mad_ hatter and they were so good together.  
  
“So many, many peculiar wrinkles,” there were fingertips dancing over his scarred cheek, soft and light as feathers and he violently shivered.  
“Much too many… Eat your scone and mother’s pie, they make you smile.”  
  
“That,” Stayne chuckled after taking a deep breath, “didn’t rhyme in the least, Tarrant.”  
  
There was a low chuckle coming from his left while he finally bit into the scone and slowly chewed.  
Thackery’s cooking was as glorious as ever, lunatic or not.  
He had not lied by calling them his _favorite_ trio of lunatics.  
  
They finished the meal in peaceful silence and Stayne almost licked his plate clean if not for the hatter taking it away before he could do so.  
  
“This was excellent, Tarrant.” He admitted while he fiddled with the blankets, “I haven’t had a meal this good in forever.”  
  
“There’s more for later,” Tarrant’s voice floated over. “I’ll discard the plates and afterwards will have a look at your eye.”  
  
It wasn’t a question, but Stayne nodded anyway.

He hoped Tarrant would let him sleep more too. The food and tea - Stayne was sure they were laced with healing-magic - made him feel much better. But he still felt the tiredness of someone close to starving deep in his bones.  
  
He heard the window open and Tarrant’s humming, and then the loud crash of shattering china had him jump.  
Did the hatter just…  
Of course Tarrant would. He’d said he would _discard_ the plates, hadn’t he?  
A small laugh escaped Ilosovic and he lifted his arm, pressed his face against it as he couldn’t stop and the laugh grew.  
_Only Tarrant_ , only him.  
  
He was soon joined by Tarrant’s laugh and not much later he felt the hatter fall down beside him on the bed, where they continued to laugh like the mad men they supposedly were.  
  
It took them a while to sober up and when they finally did, Ilosovic felt Tarrant reaching out to run his fingers through his hair.  
  
“I missed your laugh,” the hatter admitted.  
  
“I missed a great deal more about you!” Ilosovic blurted out in the spur of the moment, only to regret it in the same breath as Tarrant’s hand vanished from his hair.  
  
But then the hand was on his wrist and there was a light tug, “up you go, Ili.”  
He sat diligently up and was secretly relieved when Tarrant didn’t pull his hand away until he’d been safely upright for a moment.  
  
“Now, let me close the curtains and I’ll be right back!”  
  
Ilosovic placed his hands on his own knees and dug his fingers in.  
He would not be blind. He would get his eyesight back. He had to.  
  
Tarrant came back and touched him carefully, cupped his cheek and then slid his hand up to the bandage, slowly unwrapping it.  
  
“Stop it with the wrinkles, Ilosovic. The balm is Queen Mirana’s doing and she knows what she does, even though she does not know for whom she does it.”  
  
Like the last time, Tarrant used his own fingers to gently remove the balm on Stayne’s eye, but gave it a final gentle dab with a wet cloth.  
  
Then Stayne found his fingers pried from his knee and held securely in Tarrant’s.  
  
“Look at me?” The hatter’s voice coaxed in a soft lilt.  
  
Stayne, afraid to only see schemes, squeezed Tarrant’s hand and slowly, anxiously opened his eye.  
  
There was a blur of grey and as much as Stayne tried to focus, it didn’t get much clearer. He tried until his eye began to water and Tarrant placed a cool hand over it.  
  
“Shhh, don’t over do it. It might only need ti… It might just take a bit longer.”  
  
Stayne’s shoulders slumped and he hung his head in defeat. “And if it won’t?”  
  
“It will. There’s enough magic in this balm to heal my fingers in a blink. I’m sure it only takes more t… it only needs to sit for a bit longer, Ilosovic.” Tarrant’s hands had slid back to his cheeks, tilted Stayne’s head upwards again, lingering for a moment.  
  
Stayne let the hatter bandage him up in silence, not convinced in the least.  
  
Once they were done and Tarrant had gone back to work, Ilosovic lay back down, arm and hand hanging of the bed, playing idly with the rug until his fingers nudged something hard.  
  
“What... “ he felt around and then tugged the sword half out from beneath the bed. “Tarrant?”  
  
The chair scraped and fast steps approached and the claymore sword was pushed back beneath the bed while Tarrant explained, “do you think I’d sleep defenseless with you in my bed?”  
  
Stayne’s face fell and he sat up, feet on the floor, ready to get up. He knew he wasn’t trustworthy in the slightest, but after the talk they had and...  
He was bopped on the head none too gently.  
  
“Ilosovic Stayne, you dolt. It is not down there because of _you_ .” Tarrant’s voice was clearly amused. “Well, it is, but not in the way you think. You’re injured and there are so many people coming by and they might catch us sleeping and if they would decide to attack you or hurt you…” There was a hand back in Stayne’s hair this time ruffling it. “I want to be ready to defend you.”  
  
He turned his face upwards, towards Tarrant and breathed, caught off guard, “you would protect me? I’m not worth the trouble you have because of me.”  
  
The hatter’s hands were back to framing Ilosovic’s face, thumbs running over his still too prominent cheekbones, tilting it up a little.  
  
“When you say things like this, it makes me want to…”  the hands around Stayne’s face clutched almost hard enough to hurt as Tarrant fell silent.  
  
“Hit me?” Ilosovic offered dryly.  
  
“This too,” Tarrant agreed. “But mostly I want to kiss you. Haven’t done that in way too long.”  
  
Ilosovic froze, his mind in a jumble and so he fled into lame jokes, hands fisting the covers.  
“Kissing, or kissing _me_ ?”  
  
Tarrant laughed lightly, a hint of madness apparent, thumbs digging into Stayne’s cheekbones.  
“Both actually, you’ve been the last.”  
  
Stayne felt like Tarrant had just pulled the rug from under him.

_He_ had been the last? Not _the_ Alice?  
  
Without thinking too much about what he was about to do, he tilted his face a bit more and hoarsely demanded.  
  
“Please do.”  


  
Picture by: [sawyer-sweet](https://sawyer-sweet.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

  
  


For a long, fearful moment nothing happened, then Ilosovic could hear Tarrant take a deep breath.    
And then he was kissed.   
  
There was nothing hesitant or tentative about the way Tarrant kissed him. It was all precise determination.   
  
Ilosovic reached up and, with surprising accuracy, closed his hands around Tarrant’s waist and pulled him closer.   
  
For a few blissful minutes everything was perfect. Tarrant’s hands in his hair, their bodies close together, tastes mingling.    
And then Ilosovic’s head cleared up at one fleeting memory and he pushed Tarrant away.    
  
“The last man,” he said, voice heavy with regret, “who kissed me like this broke my heart and I ended up on the wrong end of things.”    
  
Tarrant’s hands, still in Ilosovic’s hair, held on stronger and with a heavy lilt the hatter promised, “he will not do so again. I’ll take care of it.”   
  
“I must be mad to listen to your reasoning…” and Stayne pulled Tarrant slowly back towards himself.   
  
“Only half mad!” Tarrant corrected, voice flitting.   
  
“Almost entirely so,” Ilosovic muttered before he let Tarrant kiss him again.

He felt Tarrant trying to get closer and brought one of his own hands up, sliding it along the other’s arm, then cupped Tarrant’s cheek.

Ilosovic wondered if Tarrant’s cheeks would turn red now, bloom like roses, and if the shade beneath his eyes would look like lavender flowers after rain, and if his green eyes would be gold rimmed like they had been whenever the hatter had been joyous.    
He was so caught in kisses and memories, he never felt the dizziness creep up on him.   
  
Stayne let out a small groan while he tried to piece together what had happened to him.   
Just a moment ago he had kissed Tarrant and now he was flat on his back with a headache from hell, while the hatter dabbed his face with a wet towel.   
  
“What…”   
  
“I've been considering words that begin with the letter F…”   
  
Ilosovic instantly focused completely on Tarrant. He only used this kind of rhetoric when he was really upset.   
  
The hatter rambled on, “...start with the letter F. Feeble. Fearful. Faint!”   
  
Oh, how embarrassing. Apparently he’d fainted while kissing, like the metaphorical virgin maiden.   
  
Stayne huffed out a breath and caught one of the hands which were for some reason now frantically rubbing a spot on his chest with the wet cloth, in his own, fingers closing around the tight fist.   
  
“Are you trying to wash that brand off, Tarrant?”   
  
“Have you ever considered words that begin with the letter M? Like marked. Mistreated. Maniac. Mmmmurder the  bluddy behg hid!”   
  
Not that Ilosovic didn’t appreciate Tarrant’s anger on his behalf, but brogue  _ and _ defining letters usually promised havoc.   
He held the hand a bit tighter and caught the other one - which still scrubbed - too.   
He pulled them up to his mouth, kissed the tight fists and nipped with just a hint of teeth at the tensely curled fingers.   
  
He could feel Tarrant calm down after a moment until there was a deep breath, the fingers uncurled and slid over his lips while they were pulled back.   
  
“Thank you,” Tarrant muttered and then Ilosovic felt him lay down, half atop his chest, head firmly wedged beneath Ilosovic’s chin.   
Stayne reached up and petted the curly hair, fingers slowly working through it and finally stroking his thumb over one of the hatter’s plush eyebrows.

Only to find a hatpin.   
  
He tugged it out with pointy fingers and flicked it away into the direction he’d heard Tarrant working before.    
It landed with a quiet tinkling noise and Tarrant on his chest chuckled amused.   
  
“That was on point, how did you know where my worktable is?”   
  
Ilosovic rumbled out a laugh, “heard you work before. You still talk to your hats. It’s probably what makes them the best. Being so cared for.”   
  
Tarrant giggled at that and Ilosovic could feel him press a kiss to his collarbone.   
  
“I promise to talk your ear off, Ili!”   
  
He was about to reply, just opened his mouth, really, as he was interrupted by a small snore.

Ilosovic instead murmured, “sleep well.”   
  
With nothing else to do, he followed Tarrant’s example soon after.   
  
  
Waking up this time was much more pleasurable than the last times.    
No one was trying to take down Tarrant’s door and nothing was numb.    
And there were fingers playing with the ruffles of his nightshirt.   
  
“How long did we sleep?”   
  
Tarrant huffed. “It’s late afternoon. We missed tea.”   
  
Ilosovic chuckled and rolled onto his front, dislodging the hatter from his chest, then pushed up to his elbows and knees, turning his head towards him.   
  
“With you, one never misses tea, Tarrant.” And he arched his back like a cat, stretched out the kinks. “You can make any hour of each day just right for a tea party.”   
  
The covers slid off of Stayne and the nightshirt slid up his legs while he arched up a bit more, groaning happily as his spine popped.   
  
Until he heard Tarrant’s breathless lisp.   
  
“Naughty, positively naughty!”   
  
Stayne felt heat rising into his cheeks as he realized just what he’d done. And that made it even more embarrassing. He had not blushed in the presence of anyone for, well, half a lifetime. And it had been in the presence of the very same man.

With a sigh Stayne let himself drop face first into the pillow and then stretched his hand out, found Tarrant’s chest by chance and pushed.   
  
“Pshh, go make tea, Tarrant!”   
  
Stayne could hear the hatter laugh all the way down to the lower floor.   
  
Ilosovic lay there and wondered if he could make it to the bathroom and back without help.   
But considering his luck, he’d end up flat on the floor.   
  
He threw himself back around and groaned.    
Stayne hated nothing more than to be so immobile. Well, to be blind. But he probably should get used to this part of his new life.   
  
“Budge over?”    
  
He nodded and moved to the side, propping himself back up against the headboard while Tarrant climbed into the bed too.    
Tarrant kept talking all through the meal, recounting stories from Underland that had happened while Stayne had been banished. Stayne listened and even asked a few questions of his own.   
However, the hatter fell silent once they’d emptied their plates. Ilosovic could hear him put the empty plate down on the nightstand and held his own plate out to be taken away.

Instead something was gingerly placed onto the plate and the hatter pushed it closer to Ilosovic’s chest.   
  
“I saved this one up for you. Thackery made it.”   
  
Now Staynes curiosity was piqued. He carefully felt for whatever it was, found a tart and sighed, delighted as the first bite revealed it to be squimberry.   
  
“I finished a pair of pyjamas for you, would you like a bath first? I could wash your hair if you let me. I would like to wash your hair. It’s still very soft, even though it’s grey. I like it that way too. Reminds me of silver-silk...” and Tarrant kept going.   
  
Ilosovic leaned closer to the babbling hatter once he’d finished his tart, tried to estimate where he needed to go, then pecked his cheek.   
  
Tarrant instantly shut up, sucking in a breath.   
  
“I would love a bath.” Ilosovic agreed. “And thank you for saving me a tart, very courteous of you.” He rubbed his stubbled cheek just once against Tarrant’s. “I would also like to borrow your shaving kit?”   
  
Stayne could feel Tarrant shudder and couldn’t suppress a smirk and inwardly cheered at Tarrant’s breathless reply.

“Do you even fit into my tub?”   
  
“Oh,” he lowered his voice, “you of all people know that I’m pretty flexible.   
  
He heard the most satisfying whimper before Tarrant scrambled out of bed, muttering about discarding dishes and running baths and naughtiness.   
  
Stayne couldn’t hold back his chuckle.   
  
The hatter’s tub was not as small as Stayne had expected and he was fairly comfortable just letting his legs hang over the sides. Which in turn helped to not accidentally get his eyes wet by sliding down into the tub.   
He scrubbed himself clean, even took off the bandage around his wrist, and once done called for Tarrant.   
Ilosovic pressed a piece of cloth Tarrant had handed him to his injured eye and let the hatter handle the rest. After all, it was very nice to get his hair washed. Ilosovic didn’t even bother to suppress his content sighs.   
  
“Do you need help with the shaving?” Tarrant’s voice, as close as it was to his ear, had Ilosovic shudder.   
  
He shook his head slowly. “No, I should do fine. Can’t be much harder a task as to do so in the middle of the night in a pitch black tent.”   
  
Ilosovic felt Tarrant nod, then the hatter instructed.   
  
“There are towels by your left hand. Your new bedclothes right beside them. The trousers have a drawstring in the front. The shaving kit is on the sink, the knife still closed, but freshly sharpened. Don’t cut yourself, and call if you need anything, or when you’re ready to go back to bed. I’ll take care of your eye once you’re back in bed, Ili!”   
  
Ilosovic nodded and dropped his head back on the edge of the tub.    
With a deep, weary sigh he lifted his hand up and held it in front of his eye. Still nothing more than a blurry grey shadow. He could not even distinguish his fingers.   
  
He finally pulled his legs back into the tub, then got up, fishing for the towels.    
Getting the razor turned out to be more tricky because he hadn’t placed it on the sink himself and, well, the sink wasn’t exactly tailored to his height.   
  
Stayne took his time, even sitting on the edge of the tub, lest he got dizzy again. He really didn't like to faint.    
  
The pyjama he found once he was done shaving was soft and very much tailored to his size, had a shirt with arms long enough to fall half over his hands, just as he used to like it, and laced fastenings to halfway down the front. Ilosovic was a very happy man right now.    
He only hoped Tarrant hadn’t used some garish colors.   
  
Ilosovic tilted his head, closed his eyes and focused on Tarrant’s humming and muttering a few rooms away, then pushed to his feet and took a hold of the wall.   
He ducked a little - Stayne knew he was too tall for conventional buildings - as he shuffled towards Tarrant’s voice.   
  
He managed to only stub his toe once and hit his head twice before he arrived in the room the noise was coming from.   
  
“Tarrant, are there any pins laying about?”   
  
Tarrant fell silent and Ilosovic heard him push the chair back.    
  
“No, no pins, bed is in the middle of the room, straight ahead, there’s a chest at it’s foot. Mind the posts!”   
  
Ilosovic nodded once and tried to walk there with more pose, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, hand stretched out. He could feel Tarrant’s stare all the way through the room.   
  
Stayne touched what felt like a canopy and then found the footboard of the bed. Finally he sat down on the mattress.   
It was then that it occurred to Ilosovic that the bed was essentially tailored to his size. He wouldn’t be able to comfortably sit down without bending his legs at an awkward angle, or sprawl out for that matter, if it wasn’t.   
  
He felt Tarrant approach and turned his head towards the grey blob he could see.   
  
“Turn your head up!” Tarrant ordered and Ilosovic did. Though he took hold of the hatter’s wrists.   
  
“Tarrant, I’m not certain we’re achieving anything. There is still not more than grey shadows.”   
  
The hatter’s voice slightly trembled as he replied. “Let me try. Just a few days more.”   
  
Stayne was about to shake his head slowly when Tarrant added a faint, “please?”   
  
The please did him in and Ilosovic nodded.    
“Go ahead then!” And he tilted his head backwards so Tarrant would be able to reach better.   
  
He heard Tarrant sigh and then the hatter muttered. “If it’s any consolation, it looks a lot better, no red there anymore and - whatever happens - you will not have to wear two eyepatches. Which would look rather silly anyway.”   
  
He could not help himself and laughed. “You’re impossible, Tarrant!”   
  
“I strive for it!” the hatter declared and then Ilosovic was kissed atop his nose.

He still smiled as he brought his arms around Tarrant’s waist and tugged him closer until their legs touched. Ilosovic dropped his head against Tarrant’s chest and heaved a deep sigh.   
  
“You can’t hide me here forever. And even though I like your Captain Ili plan, it will not work.”   
  
“You heard that?” Tarrant chuckled and brought his hands into Stayne’s hair to pet the still damp locks.   
  
“I did.” Stayne nodded into Tarrant’s shirt, “but really, you can’t keep me here. It’s dangerous for you. I did a lot of horrible things and…” Ilosovic  fell silent as he was bobbed on the head once again.   
  
“Listen, you Knave,” and he listened, very closely, because the lisp was gone and the brogue was back.   
  
“Yes you did. There’s no way around it. But you were also a servant with his head on the line every day. And if Queen Mirana can forgive the Red Queen with a hug and palace-arrest for what she did, she’d better be inclined to grant the leader of her resistance and first hatmaker of the court a favour after he’d never asked for a single thing from her.”   
  
Stayne groaned, still against Tarrant’s chest, “I’m not exactly her sibling, you know?”   
  
He could feel Tarrant gesticulating with one hand while the other settled into his hair even deeper.   
  
“But you’re also not exactly a danger at the moment. And I will offer to be your minder. If she thinks to send you back to the Outlands,” Tarrant sucked in a breath so deep Ilosovic held his own while he waited what came next.   
  
“Well,” Tarrant finished, “my bags are packed.”   
  
Ilosovic finally lifted his head back up. “You will not come with me.”   
  
“Oh yes, I will. Should your eye not get better, I give you three days you’d survive. That would be very disrespectful towards Chessur. He did such amazing work to bring you back. Which reminds me, we need a good excuse for you to be alive, you’re better at these. You’re also better at tactical maneuvering and you got better than me at swordfighting and…”   
  
Ilosovic closed the gap between them and kissed Tarrant silent, then pulled back and shook his head.   
  
“I agree with most of this, but honestly, we’re equally good at handling a sword. We sparred together for as long I remember and I learned all the dirty tricks from  _ you _ .” He laughed. “And I feel honored that you think I would make it three days even blind!”   
  
He felt Tarrant tense up under his hands and the hatter’s hand came up to gently touch his eye.    
Ilosovic heaved a small sigh, “yes, well, that was a pretty dirty trick too. But on the other hand, I was about to stab you. So I think we’re even.”   
  
He’d only fallen silent for a moment as he felt a very gentle kiss placed upon his eye and then Tarrant applied fresh balm and bandaged him up once again.   
  
Ilosovic thought him entirely too silent and demanded, while giving the hem of his new shirt a tug.   
  
“Tarrant, what color is this, describe it to me?”   
  
The hatter’s hand traveled from where he’d just buttoned up the bandage, to the arm of Stayne’s new pyjama-shirt.   
  
“Dark blue, almost black, like the moonless midnight sky before the Red-Queen, dark silver-silk trims and cords, matching your hair. I admit, I stitched a top hat in my colors on the chest where she…” Tarrant’s hand traveled to Stayne’s chest and placed itself over the brand.   
  
Ilosovic brought his own hand up to cover Tarrant’s. “I’d rather wear your crest than hers, swee…” he stopped himself with a gulp. It would not do to call Tarrant ‘sweetling’. Not yet at least.   
  
He heard the hatter giggle and then his face was lifted up again, Tarrant’s hands warm around it.   
  
“Were you going to call me  _ sweetling _ , Ili?”   
  
He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, but before he could even come up with an answer, Tarrant’s mouth was on his, kissing away all possible thoughts.

There was a moment of vortex and he found himself on his back, straddled by Tarrant and the hatter’s mouth hot on his throat.    
Ilosovic let out a breathless moan and offered up his neck to be devoured.   
  
He groped around, found Tarrant’s shoulders, then pulled his head back up to return the favour of kisses.    
Until he felt the dizziness creep up and pulled back with an unhappy groan. At least he didn’t faint this time.   
  
“I think - and who thought  _ I _ would ever say some such - we need to slow down. My balance isn’t at it’s best.”   
  
Ilosovic felt Tarrant tense up atop him for a moment, then was pecked on the cheek and the hatter rolled off to lie beside him.   
  
“Don’t worry Ilosovic, we have ti…ages.” Tarrant’s hand was back in Stayne’s hair again.

Ilosovic decided to finally ask, because curiosity would kill him otherwise. “What is it with you and not using the word Time, Tarrant?”   
  
Tarrant let out a sigh against his side, “we’re not on best terms, he and I. I really don’t want to rise his attention.”   
  
Stayne fished for Tarrant’s hand, it was trailing up and down his chest, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “Duly noted.”   
  
He felt Tarrant curl up against his side and smiled. “Come on,” he nudged the hatter’s side, “we should get into bed. Well, I mean the right way round.”   
  
“You have a point there,” Tarrant mumbled, “can’t be comfortable with your legs hanging off.”   
  
Stayne felt Tarrant leave the bed and spoke up, while he tucked himself in. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable for me. But, I can’t wrap my head around why you’d have such a huge bed!”   
  
The hatter laughed from where Stayne assumed was his wardrobe, “I might have been a tad bit optimistic as I had it made?”   
  
“Optimistic?” Stayne echoed pensively, then, “ohhh, optimistic!”   
  
And he promptly startled as Tarrant was suddenly right beside him and purred into his ear, “very very optimistic.”   
  
He reached up and found Tarrant’s head, fisted his hand into his hair and hauled him none too gently into a kiss.    
Ilosovic licked his lips once they parted, Tarrant half in his lap, Ilosovic’s arms safely around him, he smirked, “this is what makes  _ me  _ optimistic.”   
  
He felt Tarrant giggle soundlessly and smiled as the sound finally broke free and Tarrant leaned into him even more, the hatter’s arms coming up to hold onto Ilosovic.   
  
“Ilosovic, you really are half mad.”   
  
He found Tarrant’s neck, as though pulled by a magnet, and murmured into his skin, “almost entirely so.”   
  
He shuddered as Tarrant licked his ear and purred into it, “perfect, entirely perfect.”   
  
They fell asleep curled around and into each other, Ilosovic with his face pressed into Tarrant’s neck and the hatter’s knees pressed against his ribs.   
  
Ilosovic woke up to an array of wonderful feelings, and most had to do with Tarrant’s weight straddling him and the hatter’s hands on him and lips following the curve of his shoulder.

Stayne reached up and brought his arms around the hatter, “good morning Tarrant. What brought this on?”    
He added instantly, “not that I am complaining, mind you!”   
  
Ilosovic felt Tarrant pressing even closer, nuzzling the side of his neck.   
  
“They want to see me. Chessur’s been by. Came to tell me my attendance is desired at the castle.”   
  
“You do not sound all too happy about it?” Ilosovic’s hand began to rub circles on Tarrant’s back and Tarrant seemed to relax a bit more.   
  
“I am really not, I think I’m even a bit grey around the nose.” Ilosovic felt and heard a sigh. “Princess Iracebeth will be there too. But I really could not let you off her…”   
  
“Oh yes, you couldn’t. To kill her sister, that might have been the one thing  _ merciful _ Queen Mirana might not forgive.” If there was some sarcasm in his voice, Stayne was sure Tarrant would forgive him.   
  
There was a nod against his neck, followed by a kiss, then Tarrant spoke again.   
  
“I will ask for a private hearing. Cross your fingers.”   
  
Ilosovic nodded. “You don’t need luck, you are Tarrant Hightopp,  _ the  _ Mad Hatter, you are much muchier than anyone in Underland.”   
  
He felt Tarrant’s laugh and then heard it.   
  
“Now I know why your soldiers followed you,” Tarrant teased, “you’re not as bad at speeches as I thought.”   
  
Ilosovic laughed, but nudged Tarrant anyway, “you need to get off of me, because I do so need a bathroom!”   
  
There was a kiss pressed to his scarred cheek and then Tarrant rolled off him.    
“You go to the bathroom and I will get our breakfast.”   
  
Ilosovic would go entirely mad if Tarrant didn’t give him something to do before he left for the palace. So he spoke up just as Tarrant placed something on the nightstand.   
  
“I will need something to do, Tarrant! I cannot lie in bed all day and do nothing!”   
  
He heard Tarrant shuffle around. “Here is a pot of tea on the nightstand and some scones. You remember that night you helped me make that urgently needed hat? I apologise but you are not exceptionally good at helping me with my trade, Ili!”   
  
He had to admit that the hatter had a valid point there. He had not been ‘not good’, he had been absolutely untalented, so he nodded.   
  
There was a box planted into his lap. “But I remember you to be exceptionally good at these!”   
  
Ilosovic frowned but teased back instantly  after he had stuck his hand into the box, “I hope you remember me being exceptionally good at other things too, beside rolling up ribbons!”   
  
He heard Tarrant chuckle while Ilosovic tugged on the first ribbon, held it like Tarrant had shown him all these years ago and began to wind it in a figure eight, so it would lie flat and not curl. Ilosovic  _ was _ exceptionally good at this.   
  
Stayne heard Tarrant mumble something and was suddenly pecked on the cheek.   
  
“I’ll be back. Don’t use the sword on anyone trudging in. If there’s someone trudging in. It wouldn’t be wise to use the sword. I will sort it out later if anyone trudges in.”   
  
Ilosovic smiled and nodded. “No use of the sword. Am I allowed to strangle them with ribbon?”   
  
Ilosovic heard Tarrant laugh all the way down and out of the house and smiled to himself. At least he could still make the hatter laugh.   
  
Stayne was halfway through his box of ribbon as the door downstairs was slammed open with force and he almost dropped everything until he caught the Outlandish curse.   
  
“What by the Bandersnatch’s whiskers happened?” He asked as Tarrant stomped into the bedroom.   
  
Instead of a reply, Stayne was almost brutally hoisted into a kiss, more teeth than anything else, and the next thing he felt was Tarrant bending to pull out the sword from beneath the bed.   
  
“She wants to see you. Right now.” All brogue and and dark drawl.   
  
Stayne put the ribbon box to the side and groped for the sword, found instead the hem of Tarrant’s kilt and tugged with a growl of his own.   
  
“You will not see your queen with a sword in hand. You will leave me there if she wants to keep me and get me out later. Understand?”   
  
The claymore dropped with a clang to the floor and Ilosovic could hear how Tarrant shoved it back under the bed.   
“I made you clothes, well, trousers.You’ll need to wear your sleeping shirt and I can lend you a cape. I’ve got a pair of your boots here too. But they’re old. I wanted to get you new ones and  _ better _ clothes to show up in front of her. In my clan colors. We need her to believe that you’re no danger…”   
  
“Tarrant!”   
  
“... anymore. Thank you, I am fine!”   
  
Ilosovic nodded, then brought his hand up to tap the top hat on his chest with a cheeky smirk.   
  
“But I  _ do  _ wear your colors, Sir Hightopp.”   
  
He heard a small huff and then a pair of trousers and socks were placed in his hands.   
  
Stayne dressed quickly, still sitting on the bed, and dragged his fingers through his hair after Tarrant had given him the boots and cape. Then snuck a ribbon into the pocket of his trousers.    
Not exactly a weapon, but better than nothing.   
As he stood up, his head immediately began to spin. It must have shown as the hatter’s hand came to lie on his arm to steady Ilosovic.   
  
“Slow and steady like in your first lesson.” Tarrant teased and Stayne chuckled.   
  
“Which was never one of my best suits.”   
  
He wondered though, how he should get to the castle as unsteady he felt. This being blind business had wreaked havoc on Stayne’s balance apparently. 

Even the stairs were a challenge, but one he mastered with a minimum of Tarrant’s help.   
  
“Don’t worry too much,” how did Tarrant know? Ah yes, wrinkles. “I brought an old friend of yours along to bring us to the palace, it’s not that far.”   
  
Old friend?    
Stayne didn’t have many friends. Not anymore, that was.   
  
The hatter pulled open the door and directed Ilosovic down the few steps and - there was a greeting whinny and then Stayne was almost bowled over by a giant horse head, which nudged him.   
  
“Hello Stayne,” his horse greeted him like the stallion had done so often before. “I might have caught some madness from this one there, but I must say, that I missed you.”   
  
Ilosovic brought up his hands and found the horse’s ears and scratched, “I missed you too, Ragnar. I truly did.”   
  
“If you’re done with the bonding, could we leave?” The hatter drawled in his broadest brogue.   
  
Stayne nodded and felt for the stirrup and swung himself up - listing dangerously for a second - then frowned, “Tarrant, do you want to ride in back or the front?”   
  
“Back, so no one comes to think you’re having control over me.” The hatter took the offered hand and stirrup and was up behind Stayne in no time.   
  
“To Marmoreal!” Ragnar snorted and moved forward.   
  
  
The ride felt surprisingly short and as soon they rode into the courtyard Stayne could feel the people staring and heard hushed whispers.   
  
“You sure they’re no danger to you?” He voiced almost inaudible, worried about Tarrant more than himself at the moment.   
  
“They’re not exclusively staring at you. I’ve gone and shocked them by wearing full regalia!” Tarrant whispered back. “And I’m sure part of them have forgotten my rank.”   
  
Ilosovic chuckled and shook his head. Well that certainly explained the kilt. People had tended to forget Tarrant Hightopp’s rank as first knight of the court and only remembered his profession as the royal hatter since Stayne had met him for the first time. Stayne himself had never forgotten.   
  
“Sly dog!”   
  
He could feel Tarrant’s silent laugh, they sat so close on Ragnar’s back. “I take that as a compliment coming from you Ilosovic.”   
  
“You should.” The banter helped him relax a tad bit and Stayne slid from the horse’s back after Tarrant.   
  
He wondered how he should follow Tarrant without looking like lovers on a stroll, when his left hand was taken by Tarrant and placed on the hatter’s right shoulder and he was ordered to follow.   
  
Ilosovic realized after a moment of walking that Tarrant moved slower than he usually would and he was secretly very thankful.   
  
“Queen Mirana will have you take that bandage off…” Tarrant sounded a bit worried, but Ilosovic only shrugged.    
He couldn’t see so they might as well prove it.

Might help him some with the plea they had.   
  
“We’re entering the throne room, make ten steps then bow!”   
  
Ilosovic nodded and gave Tarrant’s shoulder an affirmative squeeze.   
  
He heard the hatter address the White Queen after exactly nine steps and Ilosovic bowed in tandem with Tarrant - only to lose his balance.

Had Tarrant’s arm not shot out and around him, Ilosovic would have toppled over.   
  
“You sit down.” Tarrant’s voice was gentle and his hands even more so as he guided Ilosovic to sit on a low chair.   
  
Ilosovic tilted his head to hear Tarrant better and nodded, as long he could sit he would be well.   
  
The Queen must have made a gesture because Tarrant spoke up again. “I am still asking for the same as I did before.” He made a short pause then continued, “just the same kindness you showed your sister for someone who is as dear to me as she is to you.”   
  
Ilosovic listened intently and therefore heard the sharp intake of air coming from Mirana.   
  
“I do not owe him any kindness What makes you so sure I would extend it to him, Sir Hightopp?”   
  
This was even worse than Stayne had thought, if even Mirana addressed Tarrant so formally, and he slouched the smallest bit.   
  
“If you will pardon me, my Queen, I am not asking kindness for him, but for me. You might not owe me, but I thought we were friends.”   
  
Stayne sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. That had been pretty impertinent.    
But apparently it had moved something, as there were hasty steps coming towards them and then Queen Mirana’s voice, very much closer and much more worried.    
  
“Tarrant, of course we are, can’t you see that I only worry? He tortured you! Flogged you!”   
  
There came the most derisive snort from Tarrant Ilosovic had ever heard.   
  
“As if a little whipping would break me.” There was a playful nudge against Stayne’s shoulder as if to make a point. “No less by  _ him _ !”   
  
The queen gasped and then murmured, “you really want him free.”

 

“Yes I do. Make me Ilosovic Stayne’s ward if you must and I vouch with my head for him.” And Tarrant’s hand was back on Ilosovic’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

 

There was a long moment of silence, then Mirana addressed him and Stayne turned his head to focus even more. Only to feel a hand in his hair which was distinctly not the hatter’s. It needed much of his willpower and an encouraging squeeze from Tarrant to not pull away.

Oh how much he loathed to be touched by her, anyone who was not Tarrant Hightopp, really.

 

“Your hair is grey, Stayne… stained.” The White Queen’s airy voice floated around him and he felt sick. She was now tugging on Ilosovic’s hair and he tensed up completely.

And Tarrant  _ growled _ . Not loud, but very unmistakingly so.

Thankfully, the hand vanished.   
  
“And what is this bandage for?”    
  
Stayne had dreaded the moment and was about to answer, when Tarrant did.   
  
“His eye didn’t get treated after the fight on Frabjous Day. He is currently almost completely blind, Mirana!”   
  
Stayne nodded, thinking that for once honesty was the only way to go, wondering if he should tell her about the shadows he still saw and finally spoke up.   
  
“Your Majesty, all I see is dark and light, not even contours, just blobs…” he’d almost added a ‘no colors at all’.   
  
Tarrant’s hands slid from his shoulder to Ilosovic’s neck and gently rubbed, as the queen ordered them to take off the bandage, then slid up and the bandage was gone after a moment.   
  
Ilosovic Stayne did not even blink, just waited until the balm was removed.    
There was way too much light and it stung painfully, but he could still only see foggy shades.   
  
“I see…” the shade he assumed was Queen Mirana said. “It looks almost normal, but his pupil does not react, nor does the eye when I move my hand in front of it.”   
  
Ilosovic nodded, promptly stubbing his nose on the White Queen’s hand.   
  
“Apologies, your Highness!”   
  
He felt her move away and then he heard her pace while Tarrant bandaged him up again, hiding both his useless eyes.   
  
Ilosovic tilted his head questioningly towards where he heard the queen pace and Tarrant whispered right into his ear.    
  
“She’s thinking. Which is good.”   
  
“Tarrant!” They both startled at the sudden cry from Mirana.   
  
“Yes, Mirana?”   
  
“What would you do if I sent him back?”   
  
Stayne tensed, but Tarrant’s hand was on his shoulder again, squeezing reassuringly.   
  
Tarrant’s voice was calm and composed as he answered her question.  “We have a horse and my bags are packed, Mirana.”   
  
The queen’s voice quivered a bit and to Stayne’s ears she sounded a bit off kilter. “I see.”   
  
There was a long silence followed by a deep sigh of the White Queen’s part, then she clapped her hands and Stayne startled.   
  
“Very well.” She had come closer again apparently, as her voice seemed louder now. More intense. “You are pardoned. But there are some conditions, Ilosovic Stayne!”   
  
This came as a surprise and a little sudden so Ilosovic bowed as best he could sitting as he was, Tarrant holding his shoulder in an iron grip.   
  
“First, you will abide to the law. Second, you will report back here once every two weeks for the time being. If you fail this agreement, you  _ and _ Sir Hightopp will get exiled!”   
  
That was all?    
Ilosovic Stayne sat upright again and nodded, “thank you, your Highness, your kindness will not be betrayed.”   
  
Tarrant squeezed his shoulder again then spoke up too.   
  
“Thank you Mirana, my Queen and friend!”   
  
There was a giggle, “stop that, it doesn’t become you to be so serious, Tarrant. Off with the both of you, and take care of each other!” 

Ilosovic could hear her walk away and then a door closing.   
  
“That was…” He began then fell silent.   
  
“... Mirana for you.” The hatter finished for him. “Let us go home, we might make it for brillig. I need a cup of good old tea. Tea is what keeps me going. Tea is always right. One never can go wrong with…”   
  
Stayne had tilted his head, then placed his own hand over Tarrant’s still on his shoulder and squeezed, “Tarrant, could you tell me about the benefits of tea on our way home?”   
  
Tarrant stopped mid rambling, “of course, let us return home, Ili.”

Stayne chuckled as the hatter picked up where he’d left off as soon they sat on Ragnar’s back. It had always had a soothing effect on Stayne, Tarrant’s rambling. And most often, one would even learn a thing or two if one only let Tarrant go on.   
  
As Ragnar finally came to halt in front of the doorstep and Tarrant stopped babbling, Ilosovic knew of two newly discovered sorts of tea, a special way to brew tea which apparently used steam, and last but not least about how to color hats with tea.   
  
Ilosovic would never understand why most of Tarrant’s friends wouldn’t distinguish between panicked rambling and Tarrant’s relaxed babbling.   
  
Tarrant’s hand tapped against Stayne’s ankle and he nodded, sliding down carefully, Tarrant’s hands safely on his lower back and hip. 

He swayed anyway as he climbed off of the horse’s back and leaned heavily onto Tarrant.   
  
“Apologies, this whole endeavour was rather exhausting, even though it turned out much better than I hoped for.”   
  
Stayne sagged into the chair Tarrant had led him to and crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them. “What happens now? Do you want me to move out?”    
Not that he wanted to, Ilosovic was just fine where he was, in Tarrant’s house.

With the bed just right for him - them, really.   
  
There was a moment of deafening silence and then Tarrant teased from where he was setting the kettle up. “Ilosovic Stayne, are the chair and table not to your liking?”   
  
Ilosovic sat straighter at once, then realized how comfortable the table and chair where, no weird angles for his joints, no reason to slouch or stoop.    
A beaming smile found it’s way onto his face. “I think I could just stay, your furniture is rather comfortable, Tarrant!”   
  
He could hear Tarrant laugh and then he was served a cup of perfectly brewed tea.

And a lap full of hatter.   
  
“Tarrant what…”   
  
Gentle hands where on Ilosovic’s shoulders as the hatter shushed him, and he pulled Tarrant closer, one arm looped around his back and the other splayed on his thigh. A very naked thigh? Oh, yes, Tarrant had been wearing his kilt.   
  
Ilosovic leaned in and kissed Tarrant. Vigorously.    
Even almost blind he could look forward to this second chance thing. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry I completely forgot to post this last chapter.  
> There also might or might not be a second part in the works...

**EPILOGUE**

  
  


The rest of the Hightopp clan showed up at Tarrant’s - and Ilosovic’s - house to protest him moving in for good after a few weeks.    
They walked in on them having tea with Mally and Thackery out at the table.   
And Stayne sporting the eyepatch Tarrant had gifted him just this morning, a top hat in Hightopp colors, instead of the black velvet, button-shaped one he usually wore nowadays.   
  
According to Mally - whispering into Stayne’s ear -  there were some very confused and angry looks flying between Tarrant and his family.

And eyes turning orange and the brogue slipping forth as the hatter finally ordered them to sit down and have some bloody tea!

Which they did, Zanik glaring at Ilosovic so much he could actually feel the glare.   
Stayne decided to ignore it and picked up his conversation with the dormouse where they left off.   
  
  
Then the day came on which Stayne couldn’t sit still anymore.    
Not that this came as a huge surprise to anyone, but it was also perfectly clear they could not leave him staggering alone through Underland, and Ilosovic had to grudgingly agree.    
To everyone’s surprise though, Briar, Bayard’s youngest pup, stepped forth and offered to be Stayne’s guide dog.

She huffed an explanation to the the queen and everyone listening, “he’s the reason we're still alive, the soldiers wanted to drown us pups.” She had growled at the memory and every single person in the room had stared disbelievingly as Stayne dropped his hand from where he sat to Briar’s neck and gave her a calming scratch.   
  
“What did he do to save you?” Tarrant asked grinning.

Stayne could hear the grin so clear he almost saw it. He only wished he could see the colors accompanying it.   
  
“He convinced them that a litter of whiny pups would be better leverage than one miserable bitch.” Briar smirked and then added, “I doubt any of my sibs or mum heard it though.”   
  
And thus Briar had taken matters in her capable paws.    
  
  
Eventually there was the first ever tea party, where they had to wait for Tarrant of all people to show up.

Which was coincidently the same tea party Mally and Ilosovic discovered they made a perfect set of eyes and arms.   
  
Thackery threw a cup of hot tea, Mally yelled “right, catch!” at the top of her lungs and Stayne found himself clutching a mug securely and nipping tea from it with a smirk while he felt Mally scaling his shoulder to speak straight into his ear.   
  
“Do you think you could do that with a sword, Stayne?”   
  
Ilosovic caught on so fast he was bolting upright, sending the dormouse clutching to a strand of his hair.  “Let me be your arms and weapon, Milady Mallymkun!”   
  
Briar encouraged them on this first impromptu training with loud barks, while Ilosovic swung his blindman’s cane, to Mally’s stern and fast commands, at cups sent by Thackery, shattering them left and right.   
They never heard or saw Tarrant join them until Thackery yelled, “you’re late for tea!”   
  
Three trainings later, all of Stayne’s vests had straps for Mally and they were up against Tarrant Hightopp with a claymore, and none of them had ever been happier or madder.   
  
“You are completely mad,” Tarrant panted into Ilosovic’s ear that night and he answered without a moment of doubt.    
“Entirely so!”   
  
And then  _ the _ Alice came back.   
  


 

 


End file.
